Huffington Post on Andrew Anglin: “Did We Mention He’s Short???”

Andrew Anglin
Daily Stormer
December 19, 2017

Luke O’Brien is a YUGE journalist

The Jews won’t respond to any of our ideas, because all of our claims are factual. As such, when attacking us, they must get creative.

The problem is that they don’t really have access to creative people. What they have access to are women and deranged, failed losers.

Huffington Post has just published a bizarre piece of fiction about me – and the author, Luke O’Brien, wants you to remember: Anglin is short.

He says it no less than 7 times in his community college-tier creative writing piece.

O’Brien is the guy who spent a year writing a fantasy story about me for The Atlantic, during which time he stalked and threatened my friends and family.

This came after he sent me fake FBI communications, which I published, effectively eliminating any chance he would ever be taken seriously as a journalist.

Now, he’s back where he belongs at the Huffington blog.

And this piece really takes the cake.

He’s writing for free (Huffington Post doesn’t pay its bloggers), but even so, it is a little bit shocking that it was published.

Sure, fake news, okay. Moving to straight creative writing fiction maybe makes sense. But this is just embarrassingly poor writing.

What is the inspiration for it even? It reads like a middle schooler trying to imitate a 1930s pulp magazine’s purple prose, but lacking the vocabulary.

Look.

The king of the Nazi trolls was in the supermarket, and he seemed nervous. Surely it was him. The shaved head, the diminutive stature, the paranoid aspect ― there is no mistaking the guy when you know what you’re looking for. And on the afternoon of Dec. 10, at the Meijer grocery store in Reynoldsburg, Ohio, the bald little fellow scanning the aisles with a hunted look could’ve been none other than Andrew Anglin.

…

He is, his lawyers continued, “not a citizen of any State.” A “stateless” person, in other words. He lives abroad, they appeared to suggest, in Lagos, Nigeria.

But then who was this tiny bald man buying protein powder in a Meijer 6,000 miles from Lagos, just days after the motion had been filed? This guy had a big tub of the white stuff. Anglin writes periodically about his workouts. He favors deadlifts, squats and other powerlifting moves, the kind that typically require a gym membership. The kind a smaller race warrior might seek to supplement with, say, whey protein isolate.

As this furtive customer slid into a self-checkout line, his eyes darted from side to side. Was he stupid not to have worn a hat to cover his shaved head? Was he being watched?

He was.

…

But Anglin wanted to hide something. Was it the address on the police report? That three-bedroom house owned by his father? That’s the one Anglin gave as his residence in 2006, not long after he’d dropped out of Ohio State University, whose campus was only a few blocks away, and shortly before he moved to the Philippines to lose his mind in the jungle. A house that might make a good residence for a demented troll who’d remade himself as a fascist online gangleader and wanted to return home to advocate for genocide while having easy access to restaurants and nightlife.

…

In September, he surfaced on, of all places, an Israeli television program to discuss an anti-Semitic alt-right meme that Yair Netanyahu, the son of Israel’s right-wing President Benjamin Netanyahu, posted to his Facebook page. Conferencing in by video from a dank room in an undisclosed location to rant about George Soros and “the Jews,” Anglin looked haggard and bruised, as if he were aging at a terrible rate, his tiny body unable to withstand the stress of life on the lam.

Two weeks after that TV appearance, Ploesser staked out another property in Columbus owned by Greg Anglin. A house on Hamlet Street in the booming Italian Village neighborhood. The process servers got a tip from a neighbor who’d seen a man resembling Anglin taking out the trash. Ploesser spent days watching the house, rushing to the scene whenever another tip came in. An old black Toyota Camry wagon was often parked behind the property in an alley.

On the night of Oct. 3, Ploesser moved in. She knocked. A light was on in the house, but nobody came to the door. She did another doorknock a few nights later, and encountered a white man in his 20s.

“I got some mail here for Andy,” Ploesser told him, using the nickname Anglin went by growing up in Columbus.

The man didn’t react.

“I’m sorry,” Ploesser said. “I meant Andrew.”

The man froze, a panicky look on his face.

“I’m sorry, there’s no one here by that name,” he said and shut the door.

“It appeared he was lying,” Ploesser dryly noted in a write-up of her service attempts.

It was October, and Anglin had melted back into the shadows. Ploesser was pulled off the case. Gersh and the SPLC resorted to service by publication, which occurs when a judge allows a plaintiff to serve a defendant who cannot be found or is in hiding by publishing a public notice in a general circulation newspaper for a period of time.

…

The nature of the troll is to skulk, emerging only periodically from its burrows for fresh meat.

Which brings us back to the attorneys’ suggestion that Anglin exists in a special diaspora of the federally unlitigable.

…

The Nazi In The Supermarket

But now Randazza and his Nazi trollmaster client may have to reckon with something else entirely: a person who swears he saw Anglin in the Columbus area while Randazza was lawyerin’. This was at the Meijer east of Columbus, right on the line between Reynoldsburg and Blacklick, and the man who is certain he spotted Anglin was one of the process servers who’d been hired to find him — a person better equipped to identify Anglin than almost anyone.

Here’s the kicker:

The process server, who asked that his name be withheld, happened to be shopping with his son on Dec. 10, a Sunday. He’d spent many hours trying to find Anglin. Now his target appeared to be standing in a checkout line a few feet away from him. The process server moved behind the customer and edged closer to try to look at his wallet. The little bald man took out a credit card, thought twice about it and put the card away. Instead, he produced a currency envelope from Fifth Third Bank. Safer to use cash. As the man pulled out a wad of bills, he glanced over his shoulder.

“I am 106.5 percent it was him. No doubt in my frickin’ mind. No doubt in a million years.” the process server told me. “On Sunday, December 10, around 1 p.m., Andrew Anglin was in Reynoldsburg, Ohio. I’ll fly to any court I need to and testify to that.”

But the process server had left his paperwork in the office. He couldn’t serve the man. He could, however, confront him. “I said, ‘You know what? Screw this,’” as he wheeled his shopping cart in front of the customer, who’d paid for his powder and was heading for the exit.

“Hey, man,” the process server said, studying the target’s face. “You look like someone I know. Is your name Andrew?”

“Nope,” the man said abruptly. Too abruptly, the process server thought. And that was all he said.

Trolls, particularly of the Nazi variety, often behave in a similar manner when exposed. They deny their own existence. They flee. And this is what the paranoid little man who looked exactly like Andrew Anglin did. He walked quickly around the process server’s cart, left the store and, without looking back, made a beeline for a black car at the far end of the parking lot. “An older used car,” the process server told me. “Possibly a Toyota.” He wanted to give chase but couldn’t leave his son.

Wew.

Okay so, let’s break this down.

Firstly, as an accomplished writer, I can give this advice to you, Luke:

• You need to read more, buddy. You don’t have any natural skill, and you’re in your fifties, so becoming a good writer is not in the cards. However, since you’ve decided that you’re comfortable pretending to be a journalist while simply making things up and putting your real name on it, your boldness should be able to outweigh the lack of ability. But you need to have some grasp of the language.
• Get a thesaurus – if you’re going to turn alleged news stories into rambling attempts at ambiatic crime fiction, you need some ambiance.
• Never use the phrase “which brings us back to…” – ever.

There’s a chance, Luke, that the Huffington blog might let you write an article for free once a week. But you’re gonna need to do better than this. If this is what your output is going to look like, they’re only going to let you write about me.

Furthermore, if you’re going to just make stuff up, it needs to be more believable – i.e., not using tropes you learned in creative writing class at whatever community college you attended. The deus ex machina of a process server randomly running into me – you did this same thing in the Atlantic article when you said a protester randomly ran into me:

How do all of these people just randomly run into me?

And come now, Luke. I have a “tiny body,” so I was buying whey protein to try and bulk up?

Prose that somehow manages to be both stilted and garish wrapped around Saved by the Bell-tier plot devices.

Both times the individuals are unnamed, both times they happened to run into me buying something.

Tsk-tsk.

It’s bad writing, Luke. Bad, bad writing.

Again, the guy said short SEVEN TIMES, including the staggeringly deranged-sounding “tiny body” line.

He’s acting as though he’s trying to get in my head, but in fact he’s simply shouting out to the whole world how deeply I’m in his.

You can picture him muttering “tiny man” over and over and over again, shaking, as he tries to justify the reality that he has shaped his life around me.

He published my 2013 driver’s license, which show’s me at 5’7″ and 140 lbs.

So yes. I am relatively short. You got me.

But your job is not to tell the world about my height, Luke. I am not famous for that. A magazine gave you a cover article, and you failed to come up with even a single sliver of insight into how and why I came to these ideas, or how and why there are hundreds of thousands of young men in this country who have come to share them. Instead, at 50-something years old, you are calling me names, writing free for a disreputable SJW blog, making up stories about me.

With that Atlantic story, Luke, everyone knew you were lying. No news outlet save for NPR reported on it, and they did it before it was published. You had the opportunity to write something meaningful, and you blew it.

You need to ask yourself what is going on here, buddy. What it is that is going on in your head. What are you accomplishing by continually publicly humiliating yourself in such a degrading way?

Right now, you are simply presuming I am “evil” somehow because that is the accepted reality created by the Jewish fake news media. You are saying: “I’m a good boy. Luke is a good, good boy because he is against the bad man. Luke good boy. Luke for free write blog about bad man. Luke helping.”

If you are genuinely on a Crusade against me because of some moral imperative you have, you need to define that to yourself before your writing is going to be readable. Maybe your passion for hating me will inspire others.

The entire premise of the Atlantic piece – “I’m going to dig up dirt on this guy and then when I don’t find it I’ll just make it up” – was unmoving. Even if you’d found a mangled corpse in my closet, you wouldn’t have actually proved anything about what I am arguing politically. If I am evil, you need to be able to explain why I am evil, and you need to believe in it yourself.

That is my ultimate creative writing tip, Luke: you need to find your passion. 

If you are only doing this because your life is meaningless and you’ve accomplished absolutely nothing of value in your decades here on earth, and so feel that you can do something meaningful by tearing down a man who has accomplished something, using name-calling and goofy lies, then I promise you, you are going to keep losing.

Because we’ve already started the fire. If you were able to somehow destroy me, it would mean very little in the larger scheme of what I am working towards. That is what accomplishment is, Luke: building something that goes beyond yourself. And that is not compatible with being a deranged, obsessive pervert writing fake news trying impotently to destroy an accomplished man for reasons that you can’t even explain.

Yes, I Live in Nigeria

It is a confirmed fact that I live in Nigeria, but the fake news media are too big of cowards to visit a country filled up with blacks.

Which makes it especially interesting that they are trying to fill America up with blacks.

Here’s a random picture from my phone that you won’t find in a reverse image search.

I have offered multiple journalists a chance to meet with me here in Lagos, and none have taken me up on the offer.

HELP LUKE

Luke also kindly included his phone number and email, which you can use to give him story tips.

Tell him I live wherever, and see if you can get him to believe it.

After you call him, send me an email telling me what you said, and if he reports it in an unpaid blog post, I will give you credit.

In fact, I’ll give you a prize.